Back in Nhkarta Bay a Peace Core friend had told me that Livingstonia was a place not to be missed. He informed me that it was a 10 km hike uphill and that it may be wise to drop off my traveling home. This could have easily been a possibility if I had gotten an early start that morning, but of course my sluggish packing habits only had me out of the hostel by 10:00 am.
I arrived at the road block that signified the turn off to Livingstonia at approximately 3:00 pm. Apparently signs are over rated in Africa making it stressful to get off the bus halfway when I often have no idea where I am. The PPS system is normally the best strategy but do to my quite disgusting and awkward experience with the passengers surrounding me I had to go off what the PCV had told me. Sooner or later I expect that I will find some place in Africa that is not so spectacular but the 1000 m ascent in front of me had me hoping this was not that time.
Have I mentioned before that my bag is ridiculously over sized and weighs more than the average African. Well it is so I assumed what normally took the average tourist four hours to hike would take me upwards of five hours. There is the option of having the Mushroom Farm transport pick you up but the outrageous cost of forty dollars was not welcome to an already stretched budget. The sun sets between 6:30 and 7:00 pm so I decided not to drop off my enormous back pack and just go for it.
After the first km I began to despise myself for this decision. Not only did I have my fifty plus pound bag on my back but I also had a thirty pound bag on my belly that hindered my leg movements. Whatever I’m stubborn young and dumb I can do it. After the third kilometer I was not so sure especially with the locals that were passing me effortlessly with the same sized bags balanced expertly on their heads.
I pushed on finding a way to forget about the weight by thinking of all the ways I would bitch out my Professor Dr. Chad Thatcher for his overkill packing list that I made sure to meticulously follow. I thought maybe I won’t have to say anything and I can just give him a swift kick to the shin and then leave him wondering why. So after many diabolical scenarios had run through my head on how I could punish him I figured I had made it about halfway. Or at least hoped that I had because the sun was starting to set and my lonely planet guide did not have a good explanation of the location of the hostel.
I made it this far I can make it the rest. At this point I began to think of all the fun times where my stubbornness had got me into painful situations. Times like the lower glaciers of Denali mtn. where my 16 oz arm curls and a pack of cigarettes a day turned out to not be the best training method. Or the random decision to participate with my father in a sprint triathalon when I hadn’t been on a road bike in two years. Surprisingly all these memories gave me a boost because of all that I had overcome.
Two local boys had been quietly walking behind me whispering to themselves which seemed pointless because even if they were shouting I still wouldn’t have known what they were saying. However it was bothering me so I decided to take a break to let them pass. They both stopped with me and began to play charades in front of me which was quite confusing until after I let them dance around for a while and realized they were offering to carry my bag. Have I mentioned that I’m stubborn yet? The idea of having someone else carry my things is not acceptable to me I’m guessing because of me being a guide. Or that I’m from America where the word porter doesn’t exist.
After a smoke and the last of my water I attempted to stand up. My legs were not agreeing with my pride and after multiple embarrassing tries I sunk my head to my chest and agreed to give each porter three dollars to haul my luggage the rest of the way. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so humbled as I was in that moment. I gave up my bag and then watched these locals unceremoniously toss the gargantuan backpack onto their head and begin to almost run up the road as if there was a bluebird on their shoulder. I followed on rubbery legs wondering why I was not strong enough to complete the task at hand. No worries at least I’ll get there.
We arrived at the turn off to Mushroom Farm shortly there after and I paid the porters and threw the bag on for the last sprint to the hostel. The lodging was beyond all expectations with beautiful rustic grass huts and a very entertaining older English couple that ran the place. I hung up my hammock style home on a ledge that was right on the edge of a large drop where I could hear a waterfall but not see it. As soon as the last piece of my bed had been put together I heard a call for dinner. Life is good I thought and settled in for a fantastic local meal with three other travelers and a sense of accomplishment that will give me boosts to finish tasks long into my life.
No comments:
Post a Comment